


Affection

by theweddingofthefoxes



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, reference to past child abuse, touch starvation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-10-17 12:18:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10593864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theweddingofthefoxes/pseuds/theweddingofthefoxes
Summary: Hux has had a crush on his friend Ren for awhile now, and when disaster strikes, he learns that Ren's willing to go further than a typical friend would in order to make sure he's okay.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kyluxtrashbin (Starkiller95)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starkiller95/gifts).



The waiting area of the Jiffy Lube is small and smells like coffee--they've got a Keurig, which Hux wasn't expecting. There's a stack of magazines on the little side table next to him, mostly automotive but a couple of random Ranger Ricks and Peoples. Another customer has been hogging the restroom, coughing loudly, either he's got consumption or he's trying to cover up the sound of something else, God knows what. It'd be easier to ignore if it weren't so loud, almost louder than the television, which is turned to a talk show. The host is interviewing a psychologist who has just written a book about touch starvation. 

“We live in a very closed-off culture,” the guest is saying. “It’s just not considered polite to be so affectionate with our loved ones--you know, hugging, sitting close, holding hands. Friends aren’t encouraged to be touchy. Even parents can be physically distant from their small children, when it’s so essential to provide positive touches like cuddles and kisses at the time of development.”

_I could have told you that without a Ph.D._ Hux thinks. No wonder he yanks away when people tap him on the shoulder or tug on his sleeve. Nobody exactly made an effort to be physically close when he was growing. 

There’s a burst of coughing from the bathroom, so Hux isn’t sure what the host says in response. But then it subsides, and he hears the psychologist go on. 

“People assume that touch has to be sexual,” she says. She’s quite professional, not fidgeting or touching her hair or earrings, which dangle and catch the light as she speaks. “And you can certainly develop better ways to touch your sexual partner, during foreplay and also after the act. But touch is not inherently sexual. It’s necessary.”

“What happens when people don’t get that necessary touch as children?” the host wants to know.

“Children shouldn’t associate touch with negativity--slaps, spanks, that kind of thing. Nor should they be completely unfamiliar with touch. It can skew the way those children seek out comfort and happiness as adults. The fact is, having comforting, loving touches from people in your life can make you feel happier and more secure and confident...”

She says more, but it’s just then that Hux’s phone vibrates. Ren. He smiles to himself, opening the text.

_Spending your whole Saturday at the car place?_

_It’s called Jiffy for a reason. I’ll probably be done in 10._

_I’m starving, can we meet at the Goat?_

_Twenty mins? I don’t want to make you wait._

_Deal. I’ll get us a table._

He turns his attention back to the television, but it’s changed to a commercial for tooth-whitening trays. 

“Mr. Hux?” 

The car’s ready. It is the only tangible item that Hux owns that he did not pay for himself--it was a gift for graduating with his Master’s in engineering from his aunt Rae. He has never called her ‘aunt’ to her face, has never actually called her anything besides ‘ma’am’. But when he thinks of her or describes to to others, it is familial, and he considers himself beholden to her in a way that he would never feel towards his father. 

When Rae bought him the car, she left him with strict instructions to care for it well. “If I hear you’ve dented this thing doing something stupid, I’ll take it back and you can ride a bike,” she warned. But when he’d insisted the car was far too fine a gift, she’d refused to listen. 

“You’ve worked hard. You’ve grown into an intelligent, capable man. And goddammit, you’ve earned this.”

Hux, true to his word, faithfully changes the oil every 3000 miles, washes it every week in the summer and has not so much as hopped a curb in the four years he’s owned it. If he loves anything, besides his cat and being right and Rae Sloane, it’s this car. 

And maybe Ren. 

Love, Hux thinks as he signs the check before accepting the paperwork and then his car, is possibly not the right word for what he feels for Ren. It seems like something that one would have to earn, and also maybe go both ways. And he’s not interested in putting what he does have, this friendship, onto the sacrificial table in order to try to summon up a relationship. Affection is not really the right word either because he is terrible at expressing affection. He can only imagine what that psychologist on the talk show would have to say about _him_. But he’s much happier spending time with Ren than with any of his other friends. Ren was the one who got him to not spend every minute of his time working, to go back and do stuff he actually likes, like martial arts classes and adopting a cat. Ren’s the one who he feels like he can trust with his issues with his dad, the one he doesn’t have to lie about having a stomachache to when he’s feeling anxious or overwhelmed. 

And Ren’s gorgeous, too, that just goes without saying. Hux has imagined, many times, what it would be like to--this is dumb, he thinks, but he can’t make himself not think it--get picked up by Ren, pinned down, fucking _spooned_. The thought embarrasses him has much as it pleases him. If cuddling has all the benefits it’s supposed to, he thinks as he pulls out of the Jiffy Lube parking lot, no wonder he’s so fucked up. 

Whatever.

The Goat is crowded on a nice day like this, and everybody wants the outdoor seating. Ren has already nabbed a choice spot, right under the awning for shade so Hux won’t sizzle like a piece of bacon, but also not too close to the door that was constantly opening and shutting. Hux slides his sunglasses into his breast pocket and sits down across from him.

“How’s the car?”

“Fine. I like going to that place; they’re not always trying to upsell me on some shit I don’t need. The dealership’s awful for that, and costs more, and takes longer. My aunt took me the first time and she chewed them out. I think they thought they could pull one over on her because she’s a woman.”

“Their mistake, Jesus. Were there any survivors? Oh, by the way, speaking of overpaying, I ordered us avocado toast for an appetizer. Am I hipster trash?”

“Depends on how much it cost.”

Talking to Ren is just so _easy_ , Hux thinks, the way he thinks every time they’ve interacted since they met in grad school. He doesn’t feel huffy or impatient or irritated the way he does inevitably when he spends too much time with other people. He’s just content. Maybe more than content. When Ren’s telling Hux about a movie he saw the other day that apparently sucked, there’s a little swipe of ranch dressing about an inch shy of his lower lip, and Hux wants more than anything to wipe it off--not in a mom way, but something a little bit more sensual--

He doesn’t. 

“So what’s the rest of the afternoon have in store?”

Hux shrugs. “Nothing much. Going to stop by my aunt’s for dinner.”

“Is she a good cook?”

“She’s good at having things delivered.”

“A talented woman,” Ren says, finally getting that sauce swipe himself. Hux is almost disappointed, except he gets to see Ren’s tongue. “Well, maybe tomorrow, if you’re free, we can go see a better movie than that piece of shit I saw last week.”

“Yeah, I’d like that.” 

They make plans to meet at the theater the following day at three, to see a sci-fi movie that has been getting good reviews (Ren insists on checking Rotten Tomatoes beforehand before setting anything in stone, once bitten, twice shy). Hux takes the bill before Ren can look at it and they pretend to argue before Ren relents. 

“You’re awfully good to me,” Ren says good-naturedly. “I’ll get you back, don’t worry. Say hello to your aunt for me.”

Hux is glowing by the time he gets back in his car and rolls down the windows, the sunroof, to let the warm spring breeze in. He watches Ren take off in his Mustang as he waits for an opportune moment to turn left, back out onto the main road. Maybe he’ll go pick up something for dessert to bring to Rae’s before he heads over that evening. 

He’s almost home when the other car rear-ends him, striking him with an unseen force that punches all the breath out of his lungs so he can only let out a strangled, whispery, panicked “-fuck!” His car is shoved brutally forward like a toddler is pushing it along on a kitchen floor, with no concern for what might get knocked over in the process. By the time his car stops moving, he’s half on the road and half in the parking lot of, of all things, a local insurance agent’s office. He’d laugh if he weren’t trying so hard not to cry. 

  


Amazingly, no one is badly hurt. The driver who hit him was trying to pick up his hot coffee and the lid wasn’t secure, and when it spilled into his lap, he tried to pull over but ended up crashing right into Hux instead. Both Hux and the other driver were wearing their seatbelts, and the insurance agent whose yard they’d ended up in was happy to run out and give some pro-bono advice and call the police. Hux files a report with his own insurance company, takes photos with his phone. 

Hux’s back muscles feel like they’re pulled tight as violin strings, and he can’t stop trembling as if he has a raging fever. His car is fucked, too. He knows, rationally, that cars nowadays are designed to crumple so all the impact goes into the metal and not the people inside, but holy fuck. His car, his beloved car, looks like one of those old screensavers where the geometric shapes twist and whirl, or like a glitch in a computer game. Still, he supposes it’s better that he’s all right. Thank God Rae bought him something with such a good safety rating. Rae!

The insurance agent let him come in and get a drink of water in his office, and he calls Rae from the armchair. She knows immediately something’s not right. 

“Armitage?”

“I’m--I’m really sorry, I’m not going to be able to make it this evening. I got--into an accident.”

“An accident? Armitage, are you all right?”

She doesn’t sound shrill--she never does--but her normal steel disappears. She just sounds genuinely concerned, which just makes him feel even more like crying. “Mmhm,” he says, and he has never told such a blatant lie. “I--I might have gotten some mild whiplash or something. I should p-probably make a doctor’s appointment. But I don’t--don’t have to go to the hospital or anything.”

Haltingly, he tells her the sequence events. “I’m going to try and figure out--what I need to do, tonight. Can we maybe reschedule? If that’s okay with you?”

“Yes, my God, yes. Don’t concern yourself with that, son, just focus on sorting out the insurance and a rental and all those other details. If you want me to come by at any point, all you have to do is send me a text. You know that, right?”

He can barely speak--he can’t shake the terror he has that he’s disappointed her, that he made a promise to take care of this car and he didn’t do it right. Finally he manages, “I know.”

“Promise me that you’re all right, Armitage, really. Do not dare try and walk off a broken leg or something like that. Promise me you’ll do whatever you need to to feel better.”

“I promise.”

When she is assured that he’s not dying and lets him go, he hangs up, only feeling worse for some reason. He feels like he’s scared her. He thinks of a time, many years ago, when she asked him why his lip was bruised. When he confessed that his father had struck him for bringing home a failing grade on a spelling test, her face twisted into a look of hatred that he would never forget. He never did find out exactly what she said or did the next day while he was at school, but his father never touched him again. 

She can’t protect him from everything, though.

The insurance agent’s secretary must see how he’s sunk further into his misery, and, because she doesn’t have anything else to give, offers him another bottle of water and a keychain for his phone that doubles as a little flashlight with the insurance agent’s name and phone number on it. “Do you have a ride, or can we call you a cab home?” she asks kindly.

“I--I can call a friend of mine,” Hux says. 

He can. He can always call Ren, and Ren will always answer. 

“Tidge? What’s up?”

It all just falls out. The recitation of the accident, which the secretary is now hearing for the second time, or third, if the agent told her anything. Hux feels like he should be feeling _less_ worked up with all these retellings, not more, but no, the dam inside bursts and he does start to cry, sitting there in the armchair, clutching the phone to his ear with one hand and mindlessly clicking the flashlight on and off with the other. 

“Tidge. Tidge, what’s the address? I’m coming right now, just give me the address.”

Hux has to ask the secretary what the address of the office is, and they both pretend they don’t notice him rubbing tears off his face. 

“Okay. I’m coming. I’ll be there in like, ten minutes. Just hang on.”

He feels curiously like he’s waiting to be picked up from school, from the nurse’s office after throwing up. Rae did that a time or two, no way in fuck Brendol would have been bothered. He feels vaguely like he’s in trouble. 

When Ren barrels into the office, he almost looks like he’s about to hug him or something, but stops short of actually doing it.

“Jesus, I saw your car outside and I lost my mind,” Ren says. “I can’t believe...I can’t believe you’re okay. God almighty. I’m so glad you’re okay. You wanna go now? Let’s go. We’ll go back to my place, all right?”

Hux nods and follows Ren back outside. That same lovely breeze, still so warm and idyllic, ruffles their hair as they make their way down to the Mustang. “The tow truck is coming to take my car to the shop,” Hux says, as evenly as he can. That single sentence requires all his concentration. 

Ren whistles sadly as they get into his car. “God. And you just got the oil changed and everything.”

It’s not an awful thing to say, not mean or insensitive or rude or anything, but it is the wrong thing, and Hux can’t do anything but lean against the window and sob with complete abandon. 

“Oh--oh fuck. Oh, fuck, Tidge, I’m really sorry. Come on, we’re going, we’re going home.”

For a couple minutes they just ride on like that, Hux crying and Ren talking, low and even and constant as a hypnotist. At last, Hux takes a huge, gasping breath. “I’m s-sorry,” he says, high and thin. “I’m overreacting--I didn’t even get hurt--”

“That’s not what you told me,” Ren answers evenly. “You said your back hurt.”

“Yes, but--but that’s so--inconsequential…”

“You were just in a car accident. I mean, I can’t even express how thankful I am that it wasn’t worse, but you’re allowed to be upset.” He smiles sadly. “And I know how important that car is to you.”

“And now I’m--crying like a--fucking child…”

“Tidge. Tidge.” Ren pulls onto his street, into his driveway, into his garage, saying Hux’s name over and over all the way. “Tidge. Answer me honestly. When’s the last time you like, actually cried?”

Hux shakes his head. “I don’t know. A long time. I--this isn’t even worth crying over. I don’t know why I’m so upset.”

“Armitage, you shouldn’t feel so bad about it. There’s no standard for what you are or aren’t allowed to cry about.”

Hux scoffs, half-laughing, even as the tears continue to fall. “My father would have thrown me across the room if he saw me carrying on like this.”

“I swear to Christ, if I saw your father on the street, I’ll knock him out, no questions asked.” 

“That’s basically what Aunt Rae did.”

“Good. She’s the model to follow, not the fucker who fathered you.” Ren gets out of the car, and Hux follows, feeling drained and woozy from the onslaught of emotions, from the adrenaline, from the worsening feeling in his back and shoulders. It’s like what a vampire victim must feel like, he thinks absurdly as Ren opens the windows to allow that breeze to keep following them. He lies down on one of the L-shaped couches in the den, listening to the cars go by on the street and the sound of Ren putting his keys away on the hook in the kitchen.

Hux closes his eyes and just listens to the sound of Ren’s footsteps approaching.

“That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever offered to do for me, you know,” Hux says once he’s reasonably sure Ren’s in the room with him. He indulges in a brief fantasy of Ren just destroying his dad with a fist to the jaw, sending teeth scattering. God, if only. 

“It’s a fact,” Ren answers, sitting down on the floor next to him. Hux can feel the cushion depress a few inches away from his head where Ren is resting his chin. “Is there anything I can do, Tidge?”

He wants to say, _you’ve already done so much, no, really_.

Instead he says, “I think I’d feel better if I could maybe be h--held?”

He opens his eyes and Ren’s right there, staring right at him, not in surprise or confusion or distaste but just taking him in, waiting for him to go on, knowing he has more to say. 

“I, fuck, I know it sounds really weird, but I was in the waiting room getting my oil changed and--they were talking about it on TV and I think--I think it would make me feel better--?”

It’s all Ren needs, and he’s gingerly lifting Hux so that he can pull him into a sort of awkward but warm hug, clearly Ren is concerned about his back, but the cliche of the rope thrown to the drowning man has never been truer than here because Hux clings to him--cannot, cannot let go, now that this has been offered to him. He holds on like Ren will float off into the sky and disappear if he doesn’t. “What were they talking about?” Ren asks.

“Being touch-starved. How bad it is for you.”

“I’ve heard about that,” Ren muses, and, oh God, he brushes back Hux’s hair, more than Hux could have asked for, literally, Hux wouldn’t have felt like he could have made such a demand. “You know why I’ve never touched you before, Tidge? You never seemed to be--inviting, you know, and I thought maybe you didn’t like it. I wanted to respect that. But you don’t even have to ask me. I’m--I’m a pretty touchy guy.”

Hux swallows hard, nods into Ren’s shoulder. He knows that, has seen how Ren hugs others, or puts his arm around people’s shoulders, always prickling with distant jealousy. 

“I never thought I’d be allowed,” Ren goes on. 

“I don’t usually--I don’t know. I don’t know how to initiate that kind of thing.” Allowed? Has Ren been--wondering about him? About how far he was allowed to go?

“You can ask,” Ren says softly, still stroking Hux’s hair, the feeling is absolutely dizzying, the most delicious vertigo he has ever felt. “You could ask me.”

“And what would you say?” Hux whispers back.

“Ask me and find out.”

Hux backs up so he can look Ren in the eye, as far as he can get without letting go of the hard wide expanse of Ren’s shoulders. “Will you kiss me?”

He does not have to ask twice. Ren pulls him back in, all lips and just the right little slice of tongue and soft hot comforting breath, it’s exciting but not exactly sexual, doesn’t need to be, just like the psychologist on TV was saying-- this is so very exciting on its own and there is time enough later and anyway his back hurts and he’s tired and overwhelmed and he has everything he needs right now, folded into Ren’s arms like the most satisfying origami. There is time. There’s time for everything.

“I should have said something sooner,” Ren is saying, murmur-soft. “But you--I was so worried I’d wreck what we had--”

So familiar is this particular pain! There is a strange, sad sweetness in the way they must have been thinking about each other all this time. Hux has to laugh.

“Me too,” he confesses. “You--you’re so good and important…”

Ren kisses him again, insistently, like he can chase off all of Hux’s troubles like this, like he can undo all the lack of cuddling through sheer willpower. “We can nap in my room, if you want,” he offers. “More space than the couch. I can--we can lie together? If you’d like that.”

There is still a rental car to figure out, and that evening he’ll have to go home and make sure his cat is fed. He’ll need to wrestle with the insurance company and probably go get his back checked out. There’s time for all that later. There is nothing, nothing he wants more than to just lie still and quiet in Ren’s arms for awhile.

“I’d like that,” he says. “Very much.”

**Author's Note:**

> Here's my disclaimer that I am not a licensed mental health professional and everything the one in the story says is stuff I got on Google. 
> 
> This is the story that one of my followers won in my 500 follower giveaway! I was asked to do touch-starved Hux and mutual pining, so I hope I delivered. 
> 
> Let's get cuddly on my [ Tumblr](http://theweddingofthefoxes.tumblr.com/).


End file.
